Which way shall I take the course to my reader’s hearts,
What scale and tools do I collect with,
What voyeur’s wrap I claim in readiness.
Are the ages of my father come to bear,
Or will be for next generation’s benefit:
And for sure hope luck to smile a lot,
Unless I weaken in devotion,
That I harbor this pretext,
Where course is subject to a wanton age.
Gather, flock with us; examine all to beyond:
Valiant person have surpassed our time.

Great poem. But don't call it a Shakespearean Sonnet. Apart from the rhyme scheme (ababcdcdefefgg), it is not a Shakespearean Sonnet. So, naming it as such detracts from it and distracts me from what makes it important. It's really good. It just isn't written in iambic pentameter (soft-hard-soft-hard-soft-hard-soft-hard-soft-hard)...no problem for a poem...but a big problem for a Shakespearean Sonnet. Keep writing great poetry like this and don't worry so much about classic structures or pretend to follow them.

Refreshingly clever!!
Such an intimate and artistically crafted witness to the imposition of depression!
I too have been trying to feel deeply and surrender to this guy, to the type of lasting sadness that is grief.
Love,
Christine

Sheila, a magnificent return of your artistic pen. A difficult subject to approach with absolute objectivity. Its bite has been at all of our necks at one time or another. An unwelcomed guest at our doors. I wish you love and peace my dear friend. Jon Michael

The intensity of emotion is palpable, Sheila, and your writing is fine as ever. You bring the reader with you into the darkness and then back into the light. So well done! Glad to read you again! Hugs, Elizabeth

Sheila, There are people out there who seem you can shake depression off, and those are the ones who have never suffered from its devasting darkness that has aterrible hold on all you pocess.
Your description is exact!!

Perfect in form and expression, Sheila, and the turn at just the right point is wonderfully done as you lead us/yourself back from the brink of this consuming abyss with a rising tone of optimism and lightening of tone and mood. Phew! May this high plateau of a safe place be enduring now. So lovely to read you again. xx

How well I understand the spirit of this. "Depression's famished abyss..." I've been battling the dread 'Black Dog' since Feb when a good friend was killed. For some reason lost interest in everything then except the basics for surviving. It changed how I look at things, how I feel, and (above all) my desire to share. Seems we are given some battles, too, that never entirely resolve; they fester on interminably, coming and going whenever someone/something touches the trigger. Gotta keep pressing forward though, that's what I keep chanting, through all of it, focusing on where the Light leads. Jack London said: “I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot." As far as I'm concerned depression exacerbates dryrot, and has, (sadly) in my experiences, vitiated the output of many aesthetic spirits. Fine creative work! As real as it gets I'm thinking. Wishing you the best ... richard